He taxied to dispersal, ran the petrol out of the carburettor and switched off He unstrapped himself and climbed out of the cockpit. As he stood on the wing he felt his legs tremble.
He walked over to the hut, pulling off his headset, running a hand back through his hair. There was the smell of a coke brazier; there was an anxious red face in the light.
"How was it, Greg?"
"It was cold."
Excerpted from Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks. Copyright© 1999 by Sebastian Faulks. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
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